


if you must live, darling one, just live

by grinsekaetzchen



Series: a universe created by ourselves [2]
Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Angst with a Happy Ending, Animal Death, Bipolar Disorder, Depression, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-11 04:27:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11706807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grinsekaetzchen/pseuds/grinsekaetzchen
Summary: The world has ended and Even is still alive.He steps into the street, takes in the way the sun is shining onto the ruins. The silence of the town is at odds with the way the sun feels on Even’s skin. A distant warmth. The beginning of a movie. A sunrise, the hero turning his back on a ghost town, leaving.Cut. Darkness. Fast forward to the light again.Even starts walking.[Can be read as a standalone]





	if you must live, darling one, just live

**Author's Note:**

> Soo, ages ago I wrote my first Skam fic and it was about all the different universes that the boys could possibly be in. This was one of them. Except much shorter. Now, it's become this and idk how it happened, but I'm throwing it out here. The title is from "You" by Keaton Henson. 
> 
> Thank you [Nika](http://itistimeforusalltodecidewhoweare.tumblr.com/) for not only looking this over, but also offering invaluable advice (and making this way longer in the process)! <3 Thank you also to [Sarah](http://sanashappinessisendgame.tumblr.com/) for giving me a second opinion when I wasn't sure about anything! <3 You are both amazing! 
> 
> Warnings: This is a Post-Apocalyptic AU and as such a little dark. While one animal does die, others certainly do not and none of the Skam characters we've seen on screen die. Still, this is probably a bit heavy because, you know, things aren't fun if the world's ended I imagine, so please take care of yourselves.

The world has ended and Even is still alive.

He wishes he could find the humour in the situation. Instead, he looks around for the little things that are still salvageable: a hoodie, a blanket, some food, a water bottle, his sunglasses, a notebook, a biro, a picture of his family; strewn about the floor of what was once their home. Now, it’s just a house.

He steps into the street, takes in the way the sun is shining onto the ruins. The silence of the town is at odds with the way the sun feels on Even’s skin. A distant warmth. The beginning of a movie. A sunrise, the hero turning his back on a ghost town, leaving.

Cut. Darkness. Fast forward to the light again.

Even starts walking.

 

Even keeps to the roads. They’re not exactly safe, but they’re empty.

He’d like to say that he doesn’t know how many days he’s been walking, but the watch on his wrist works perfectly. The sun rises and sets again. There’s a certain monotony in it.

He longs for the montage part of the movie.

 

On day three of dragging his feet forward, a dog turns up. He’s still wearing a collar, a tag on it with black letters proclaiming his name. Even doesn’t look at it, just lets the dog follow him.

A wide shot: them walking in the middle of a forgotten road, Even ahead, the dog trailing after him. Behind them the scenery: empty houses, open windows and fluttering shutters (pretend there’s wind instead of this dry heat swallowing them up whole), trees a dark green in the disappearing sunlight.

The dog is mostly quiet. Sometimes he whines, tail between his legs. It’s the only time Even pets him.

 

There’s enough food for Even, but not enough for him and the dog. He tries to convey this to the dog, who looks at him with sad eyes. This is the part of the movie where Even is made out as the villain. No one likes a guy who doesn’t sacrifice himself for the dog.

The dog catches a wild squirrel. He seems as surprised as Even, tearing into it slowly at first, hesitantly, then all at once. Even watches him, taking a bite from a granola bar. It’s tasteless on his tongue.

The day after, the dog doesn’t get up. Even waits for him, despite himself. Puttering around with the meagre contents of his bag. When he can’t put off walking any longer, he lets the dog be.

Fast forward: The dog catches up with him. A joyful reunion. Loud music, Even falling to his knees to greet the dog.

The dog doesn’t catch up with him. Even avoids squirrels after that.

 

Sometimes, Even meets other people. When he walks through deserted towns, they run into each other. Some want to barter (he loses his shades for more food), some just want hope.

“Have you seen my daughter?” a woman asks, starts describing her.

Even looks behind her, the way she’s come from. The trees are blindingly green. He doesn’t understand how they are still alive when everyone else isn’t.

He interrupts the woman. “There’s no one this way.” His voice sounds like it doesn’t belong to him. Like a stranger’s talking. It makes sense, he supposes. It’s the only way to get the ghosts to leave him be.

The woman starts screaming at him then. Her hands in her hair (knotted, dirty, greasy, should be edited out later). He stops listening, imagines the sound cutting off and repeats, “There’s no one left.”

“There has to be! I come from a little village of survivors - through the woods there. There have to be survivors from where you came from!”

“I’m the only one.”

“You can’t be.”

Even shrugs. He is. Not even the dog made it.

 

Even eyes the woods in the distance. Frames the shot, tries to decide on the music playing in the background. Can’t figure it out.

He’ll stay on the roads for now.

 

It’s warm in the night. He uses his blanket as a makeshift pillow.

He stares at the moon, too bright, and ignores that everything around him is silent. Everything inside of him is silent.

No sound again. No one will want to watch this film. The era of silent films has passed, but Even can’t open his mouth. What for? There’s no one here.

 

Even’s watch dies one evening, stops working at exactly 21:21. He wishes he had an analogue clock. Then his watch would at least tell the right time twice a day.

This way, it’s wrong for most of the time. It’s only after that that Even stops counting the days. His feet are tired, but the scared part of his brain pushes him forward.

The tired part tells him that there’s no use.

 

He meets a group of three boys, all younger than him. They’re loud. Sticks in their hands, bags on their backs.

“What’re you doing?” they yell towards him.

Even shrugs. Doing a bad job of surviving.

“Wanna barter?” they ask.

Even shrugs again. They mistake his silence for aloofness and mysteriousness.

Close up on their faces as they communicate with waggling eyebrows. Cut to Even. He’s a statue. The music swells before dropping down again. Inconsistent use of soundtrack, the critics will say. Hit and miss.

Mostly miss, if Even’s honest. He lets the boys have his blanket. He’s still got his hoodie as a pillow and it’s too warm anyways.

Interesting choice, setting an apocalypse in the summer, the critics will write.

Dumb luck, Even will answer.

He gains three more granola bars and a map towards the nearest quell. He still has water, no need to brave the woods just yet.

 

Even dreams.

When he wakes up, he counts the stars. The sky is too bright at all times, the moon illuminating it. Hard to film against that kind of backdrop. Hard to convey fear when the world is perpetually dipped in red-golden light, only exchanged for blue-silver light in the night.

He has to get a handle on the music. Otherwise, this film will never get to any cinemas.

 

Even heads for the woods. His throat is dry and swallowing hurts.

His brain makes him walk too fast. He stumbles over twigs and roots in the ground. Falls once when he sees a squirrel. Berates himself immediately. It could have been something much deadlier.

He’s memorised the map to the spring. The time on his watch stands still. It takes him forever to find it.

When he does: The music reaches a crescendo.

Even drinks. Doesn’t stop. The water feels cool on its way down into his stomach. Zoom in on his face, zoom in on him washing it, scrubbing away sweat and grime. Zoom out to show him washing his hands, putting them onto the slippery stones beneath the water.

Don’t show: his reflection. (Critics will praise him for staying away from such cliché shots.)

A twig breaks behind him. He’s too tired to leap to his feet and be ready for an attack. His heart still beats more quickly. He turns his head slowly.

Wide shot: a boy standing between the trees, a bag slung over his shoulder, one hand on the tree closest to him. The light catches in his dirty-blonde hair.

He comes closer carefully. Approaching Even like he would a wild animal.

“You’re new,” the boy says, a few feet away from Even. From this close, Even can see his expression, calculating, a little surprised maybe. It’s been a while since Even tried to figure other people out.

Even doesn’t answer. The words have stopped coming ages ago. They’ve left a pit in his stomach where they once were. (This really will be a silent film, Even has to own up to it.) The boy just nods – to himself, to Even. Maybe he’s one of those people Even’s parents told him not to associate with.

The music turns sad, solemn for a second.

“When’s the last time you washed properly?” the boy asks. Even pointedly looks at the spring in front of him.

The boy snorts. It’s something Even hasn’t heard in a long time. It sounds odd coming from him, in the middle of a forest, watching a stranger wash. It’s nice. “Alright then. Get up, we’re going.” When Even doesn’t move, he just says, “You must be hungry.”

Maybe.

Even gets up.

 

The boy walks with sure steps over twigs and roots, not looking down once. Even follows him more slowly. He needs a shaky cam for this part, focused on the boy’s back. The only thing that’s not shaking.  

The boy waits whenever the distance between them grows too great. Even stares at him. He doesn’t understand one thing about him.

 

“Isak, did you pick up a stray?” someone says to the boy.

Isak. The name echoes in Even’s head, in the silence, sticks itself to the walls of his brain.

The girl who’s made the boy into Isak smiles at Isak. Even is startled by her.

Isak rolls his eyes. “He’ll sleep in my cabin, don’t worry, Eva.”

“Well, obviously. You picked him up.”

“I know.”

Eva smiles again. There’s no bite in it. “Welcome,” she says to Even, before turning around and walking away. Towards a little village made up of a dozen cabins. Even would like to sit down.

“Come on,” Isak says, “this way.”

 

Isak’s cabin is tiny.

The camera pans around the room: one bed (a bit larger than single), one table (wobbly), one chair, one corner with two plates on it, a cupboard, Isak (standing in the middle).

“Hungry?” he asks again. Even nods, drops his bag at his feet.

“Have you been living off these granola bars everyone else has as well?” Isak asks. He sounds disgusted.

Even shrugs. It wasn’t all he ate, but most of it.

“You’ll have to be careful eating then. Your stomach’s not gonna be used to this.” He gestures to the stuff he’s pulling out of the cupboard.

That’s okay. Even’s not used to any of this.

Isak brings him a plate with bread and a few slices of an apple. “Let’s start easy.”

Even eats without any haste. Not because Isak said so, but because his hands are heavy, his mouth confused by what it is he’s eating. He’s tired.

“We’ve got an outdoor oven, can you believe it?” Even can’t. “Managed to get it working a couple weeks ago. We’re gonna tackle running water next. Mahdi has an idea for that. I mean, no electricity for – well, for a long time, probably – but this is getting bearable again.”

The film makes a weird detour in the second half, the critics will say. It strays from a straight-forward apocalypse film by introducing a character seemingly unbothered by it. A character in charge of it.

Even stares at Isak.

Isak stares back calmly.

Even eats on.

 

They share the bed.

“I’d sleep on the floor, but we have nowhere else to put you, so it’d probably be better for you to get used to this.” Isak had sounded apologetic. Even had shrugged.

Here they are.

The bed is too small for Even not to touch Isak somehow. Isak doesn’t seem to mind, just pulls the blanket over them and turns onto his side. His back to Even.

Soft music in the background, Even thinks.

With his back turned to Even, Isak asks, “Will you tell me your name?”

Even breathes in. The blanket smells like something that’s been lived in. Not bad, just – comforting. His name is on the tip of his tongue but his tongue is no longer sure how it works.

He shakes his head, aware that Isak can’t see him. Hopes he’ll feel the vibrations of Even’s movements.

“That’s okay. We have time,” Isak says.

The clock on Even’s wrist says 21:21. It’s a forever kind of evening.

 

Even meets other villagers when he’s sitting on the porch of the cabin.

They stare at him, unconcealed curiosity on their faces. They approach and they tell him their names. They let him stay quiet, returning to their work.

No one asks him why he isn’t up and working with the rest of them. “Running water will be like Christmas,” Isak had said, “Everyone’s helping.”

Even can’t get his legs to move, though. His hands are leaden, his eyelids shut of their own volition. He sits on the porch until the image of a panorama shot of him sitting there and watching gets to be too much.

Isak crawls into bed later. Lets Even press a finger between his shoulder blades and keep it where it’s warm.

 

Eventually, time picks up speed again.

Even gets up and strolls through the tiny village. The sunlight spills from every corner of this village, bright and hurtful, but he forces his eyes to stay open.

“You’re the new one,” someone says, sitting in the grass in front of their cabin.

Even nods.

“Don’t talk much?”

Even shakes his head. The motion’s getting easier.

“Wanna sit?”

Even sits down, his limbs folding into themselves carefully.

“I’m Linn.”

They spend the afternoon there.

 

“Come on, we need to sort out your clothes situation.” Isak gestures to Even’s outfit. It’s not his own. His own is somewhere being washed and hung up to dry. He’s wearing the shirt and jeans of somebody else.

“You can’t live in this forever,” Isak continues.

Even lets Isak lead him to another cabin where the person living in it stores clothes. Isak searches through the contents of the box. Throws two shirts at Even and sweatpants.

He gets up from his kneeling position to stare at Even. “They’ll be a little short, but wasn’t it in to have trousers cut off before the ankle? You’ll be trendy,” he grins. Makes the best of a bad situation. Even suddenly wants to thank him. Nothing comes out when he opens his mouth. Closes it again.

A close-up on Isak: He’s frowning, lost in thought. He shakes his head. His face clears up.

“Try them on and if they’re absolutely horrible, we’ll find other ones for you.”

Where? Even wants to ask. His tongue doesn’t cooperate. Isak smiles at him. It helps a little.

 

Isak keeps calling everyone by name in the village.

He greets them. Scowls at them when they tease him. Claps them on the back. Names rolling off his tongue easily.

The others simply nod at Even. Wary of him, he guesses. He’d be too.

He helps Isak carry water from the forest into the village. It’s a slow trek, Even’s feet still not used to an uneven ground. His mind remembers empty streets. No flashback here. No one but him will care.

“Isak,” someone says and they stop on their way back to the village. Isak talks and listens.

Even does neither. He wants to say Isak’s name. Wants to know what it feels like being pushed out of his mouth. If it will tumble out like a secret.

The camera loses focus, blurs everything but Isak in the middle of the frame.

 

Late in the evening, after food and drinks and a wash with lukewarm water, Even’s in bed, Isak next to him.

He coughs. Isak stays still.

“Even,” he says. His voice is hoarse. It hurts.

“Hi, Even,” Isak says. Doesn’t turn around. Even is so grateful, his throat chokes up more.

“Hi, Isak.” The name breaks the wall behind his teeth. His tongue feels less foreign in his mouth.

 

Even wanders around the village more often. Introduces the audience to the surroundings.

The cabins all look more or less the same. Voiceover of Jonas: “It was a tourist hotspot before. We’ve patched them up and decided to stay here. Looks good, right?”

The work the others do should be a montage. Even can see it clearly. There’s Jonas and Mahdi kneeling over some paper, drawing plans. There’s Eva carrying fire wood out of the forest, Vilde walking after her, filled water bottles in her hands. There’s Sana arguing over rations with Isak. They’re yelling at each other.

The music turns angry. Then they stop. Sana shakes her head. Isak rolls his eyes. They smile at each other, heads stuck together once more.

The music becomes an upbeat jingle again. Perfect for montage scenes.

The camera turns around, captures Even. He’s standing at the edge of the village. In the distance, the forest, behind him the unknown, a city he’s never set foot in. In the middle of that: the village. The camera rolls backwards. Even follows it. Back into the village.

 

“There was a dog,” he tells Isak.

They’re sitting on the floor of the cabin, each with a piece of bread in hand. It’s a little hard to bite, but it’s okay.

“Oh?”

“He died.”

“I’m sorry,” Isak says. His face is sorrowful, his eyebrows drawn together. Even doesn’t understand. Isak must have lost people, too. Still, he seems genuine in his sorrow for a dog he’s never met. “What was his name?”

Insert a flashback: the dog running after Even, the tag of his collar has always been blurry. Until now. It clears up. In dark letters it says, “Puppy.”

“What a stupid name,” Isak says kindly.

“It was. I just called him dog.”

“Much better.” There’s a soft smile on Isak’s lips. Even looks away.

The camera remains in focus.

 

“Can you cook?” Isak asks.

“I could. Before.”

“Want to learn how to cook with a wildly unreliable oven and a patient teacher?”

Even cocks his head. “So you’re not the teacher then, are you?”

Isak startles. Even wants to take back what he said. Replay the scene. Cut, he’s made a mistake –

Isak laughs. “No. It’s not me. Come on, time to meet Noora.”

The scene rolls out in front of his eyes with only a little hiccup.

 

Too many montages, the critics will say.

Even knows. He knows. He doesn’t want to fix it.

 

Even wakes abruptly, a hand knocking into his stomach sharply.

Next to him, Isak is struggling against the blanket, eyes shut, sweat beading on his forehead. Even sits up, rips the blanket away.

He doesn’t know what to do next.

Isak wakes up gasping. Scrambles into a sitting position and leans against the wall. Even watches him take in shuddering breath after shuddering breath. For once, the light is dimmed and reflects the situation much better than when Even was sleeping outside.

“Nightmare,” Isak chokes out. His hands are shaking.

Even reaches out, takes them into his own. Holds them.

He doesn’t know how long they sit like that. “Thank you,” Isak says in the end, moves to lie back down.

His face is turned towards Even. Even grasps one of his hands in his own again. Holds onto him.

 

Isak doesn’t work the next day. Instead, he sits on the porch, face turned towards the sun.

“I hate it,” Even says, sitting down next to him.

“What?”

“The sun.”

“Why?” Isak seems interested.

“It’s always there. It’s always so bright.”

Isak shrugs. “Yeah, but – no more complete darkness. That’s nice.”

Even raises his eyebrows. “Nice?”

“Less space for dark thoughts to curl up in,” Isak answers quietly.

Oh.

The music stops. Startled.

 

The same afternoon, Isak says, “You’re from a small town, right?”

Even nods. He was. “There’s nothing there anymore, though.”

“How long ago did it happen?”

Even shrugs. He’s not quite sure. Time is a fickle thing in a world missing so much. Missing so many people. “They told us we were safe,” he says instead.

Isak scruffs his shoes against the ground. “It hit the cities first. My city.” He looks up. Even wants there to be a close up of them together. Two heads in one frame.

He stays sitting where he is. He hums to show he’s listening.

“It took forever,” Isak says.

At that, Even frowns. “Forever?”

Isak smiles sadly. “More than two weeks of people dying and dying and never stopping.”

“Everything happened in two days in my town. Felt like going to sleep and waking up again to a disaster.”

“Did anyone survive?” Isak leans back on his hands, squints against the sun. Even wants to count the freckles on his cheeks.

Even shakes his head. “Only me.”

Isak nods, huffs a mirthless laugh. “There are a few people left in the city. We barter with them. Scavenge everything else for food and stuff.”

“Your family?” The camera should move away, give Isak some space. It doesn’t. Even’s eyes are fixed on the way Isak is staring straight ahead. Into nothingness. Into a memory, maybe.

“All dead.” He blinks. “Still, others have it way worse than me.”

Even is confused. “How so?”

Isak rips out some grass. His hand is shaking again. In the broad daylight, Even doesn’t dare to hold it.

“I was never close to them. There are people who’ve lost their parents. I just – I lost acquaintances.” Isak seems angry now.

A panning shot: Even looking around the village. Cabins sitting next to each other, a couple of people working in the distance, the woods not far away. The camera zooms back in on Isak.

Even gets up. “Come on,” he says, holding out his hand. Isak stares up at him. “Let’s walk.”

“Walk?”

“I walked for a long time before. I miss it. Come on.”

Isak stares at him, confused. Then he takes his hand and lets Even haul him up. They walk out of shot, into the forest.

Even watches as Isak presses his hands into the water until they stop shaking.

 

A cat turns up.

It’s highly unbelievable that _two_ animals should seek out the hero, critics will say and turn up their noses.

Even flips them off.

The cat hates him. She bites and scratches him when he gets too close. He sits down in the grass in front of her, some food in his hands, holding it out to her. She hisses for a whole day before she comes close.

In the evening, she meows pitifully, but doesn’t let Even touch her. Even keeps the door to the cabin cracked open. Isak rolls his eyes but doesn’t protest, just says, “If she claws out my eyes while I’m sleeping, you’re sleeping outside too.”

She doesn’t. In the morning, she’s rolled up in the corner of the cabin, blinking sleepily at Even.

Four days later, she walks around the village with him. Sometimes she hops into his arms, climbs up his shoulders and sits there, her claws digging painfully into Even. It’s a good thing.

“What’s her name then?” Isak sighs when he finds Even with the cat in his lap.

“I don’t know.”

“Can I name her?”

“You don’t even like her.”

“She doesn’t like _me_.”

“Fine. You can name her.” Even pets her black fur, taps her white paws until she half-heartedly bats at his fingers. She’s a small cat, slender body and huge eyes. One of her ears is ripped.

Isak grins. “Good. Let’s name her Kitten.”

Even’s mouth drops open. A sound escapes him.

“You have a nice laugh,” Isak says quietly, a kind smile on his lips.

Even smiles back. Kitten bites his finger.

 

“Wanna come to the city with us?” Isak asks one day. He’s got a bag slung over his shoulders again, one hand hooked into the strap.

It’s highly improbable that someone so beautiful would survive the apocalypse, one critic will say.

I know, Even will answer. I know.

“Why?”

Isak seems surprised. Maybe he expected a no. That’s okay. Even’s expected one, too. His mouth has taken on a life of its own now that the words have returned.

“We need food and a few tools.”

Even turns the thought around in his head.

“Alright.”

 

The way to the city reminds Even of the days he’s spent walking before. Except this time, he’s not alone.

A wide shot: Even walking behind Isak, Jonas and Eva. Sana further in the front. If he could just settle on a musical theme. This is where the music from the walking from before will be used again. Parallels, heavy-handed but still gut-wrenching. Leaving audiences breathless.

Even misses the dog.

Isak falls back, matching his steps to Even’s. “What was living in a tiny town like? Was it as tiny as ours is now?”

Ours. Even tastes the word on his tongue. “No. It was bigger. Not by much, but. Bigger.”

“Ever been to the city?”

“A few times.”

“This one?”

“No. The other way.”

Isak cocks his head at him. “Why didn’t you go the other way then?”

A split moment: Even in front of a crossroads. Right or left. Right or left. The camera shakes. Left.

“Remote areas were supposed to be safe,” Even repeats. A statement etched into his brain.

Isak chuckles. “They weren’t.”

“And now?” Their village. Even wants to know if it’s safe. The words desert him.

Isak smiles. “As safe as can be.”

 

A panning shot: The camera travels up the skyscrapers. Shattered windows. Cut. Ruins of smaller houses. Wide open doors. The tarmac shining in the golden sun.

Cut. Birds-eye view: five figures walking amidst the rubble. Tiny, insignificant. Music swelling in the background.

It’s empty but not like the ghost town Even’s left behind. Bigger, huge in the disaster that has struck here. Chaos all over the ground. Even picks up a little doll missing an eye. Pockets it.

Isak shoots him a questioning look.

“For Kitten. She’ll get bored otherwise.”

Isak rolls his eyes. Fondly, if that’s possible. “You’ll spoil her. She’s already bratty enough.”

It’s weird. Bantering in a place where death sticks to every wall, every centimetre. The people in front of Even seem to be used to wading through it, shaking it off.

“Who’s going with Sana to barter?” Eva asks.

“I’ll go,” Isak answers, catching up with Sana. He throws a glance back at Even. Doesn’t answer for him. Even appreciates it, but it’s unnecessary. He’ll follow Isak.

“Great. We’ll meet up here whenever we’re finished,” Eva says. She and Jonas walk off, turning into one of the narrow streets. There are smaller houses there.

“Let’s go,” Sana says.

 

The woman they’re bartering with is one of the oldest people Even has seen since before. Which means she isn’t that old. It’s just rare. He’s only seen survivors younger than thirty, older than five.

Hollywood’s preoccupation with having teenagers lead every rebellion bleeds into this movie as well, the critics will say.

I’d prefer my parents alive and well, too, assholes, Even will not answer. It’s a valid criticism.

“What do you want then?” the woman asks. She’s wearing a lab coat. Her hair’s in pigtails. Sana’s face is stony as she takes her in.

“Where’s the rest?” she asks.

“Scavenging. You’re not the only ones who want to survive.” The woman shrugs, twiddling her hair in one hand. Maybe she could be cast as the villain. A bit eccentric, hard to read.

“We’ve come for food.”

“Everyone wants food. What can you give me for it?”

“Fire wood.”

The woman cackles. “Have you seen the sun? It’s way too warm already.”

Sana is unfazed. The camera stays on her. Steady. “You’re in the city. You’ll need wood to make a fire. Keep the dangers at bay.”

“And you don’t? In the forest out there?”

“No. We’re safe.”

The woman regards Sana for a long moment. “Who am I kidding, you’re right. You’re a tough one.”

Sana smiles a little. No villain in this story then. At least not a human one.

“Isak,” the woman turns to Isak. Even’s eyes widen. The camera hurries to catch Isak’s look. It’s calm. “Are you talking with people?”

“Yes.” Isak sighs. Like this is a regular occurrence.

“People aren’t islands, they need other people.”

Isak stares upwards. “People need other people to not die.” The woman shakes her head. Isak sighs more loudly. “I said I am, alright?”

Isak exchanges a quick look with Sana, who nods. Then he leaves. Even’s legs follow of their own accord.

 

“What was that?” he asks. Isak kicks a lonely pebble.

“Who,” he corrects. Yes, Even supposes, that too. “She was a doctor at my old school.”

“A doctor?”

“Yes. Told me I should go and talk to people so that I can sleep again.”

“And then?”

“Then the world ended. I don’t give a fuck what people think of me, I’m happy to be alive.” Isak doesn’t sound it.

“It’s unfair,” Even says.

“What?” Isak asks this time.

Even stops in the middle of the street. From far away he can hear people talking. Must be the people living in the city, he thinks. He wonders if they’ll be part of this movie. Hopefully not. The ensemble cast is already too big to keep track of.

“That we’re alive when they’re all not.”

Isak laughs once. High and all wrong. “Yeah, well. Nothing we can do to change that.”

Even throws him a look. Isak answers it calmly, the sharp edge on his face from before gone. How he always turns soft again, Even doesn’t know. “We’ll just keep surviving.”

“Yeah?” Even’s voice wavers a little. He hates it. This isn’t a melodrama.

“Yeah. We’re becoming quite good at that.” Isak smiles. It’s easy to follow him through the empty houses after that, to pick up things that could possibly be of value for them.

 

Noora lets him bake the bread on his own for the first time. There aren’t enough ingredients for it, but they make do. “It’s a new recipe now,” Noora shrugs. There’s nothing else to say to that.

The oven is rather unreliable, but it works. It’s still a cause for celebration that it works at all.

“How do the city people get their food?” Even asks.

“They’ve got some gardens that survived. We’re trying to get ours started, too, but it takes time.” Noora frowns.

“Why didn’t all of you stay in the city?”

Noora looks at him in surprise. “We’re not all from the city.”

“No?”

She shakes her head. “No. Isak is. Sana, too, and Jonas. But the rest of us, we just – we came here like you did. From all over the place. Searching for a little bit of peace.”

Even doesn’t know if he’d been searching for peace. For a place to rest his feet, maybe.

 

“Why are there no children?” Even asks Isak at some point.

Isak snorts. “How should I know?”

Even shrugs. “I don’t know. Just thought you might.”

They’re lying in the grass in front of their cabin. It’s the early evening and the air is heavy around them. Isak’s fingers are playing with the grass. Even’s fingers are itching to catch Isak’s between his.

“I’m not your resident apocalypse encyclopaedia.”

“What a shame.”

“I know. I’d be amazing at it.”

“Don’t you want to find out more about it? About what happened? Why it happened?” Even leans onto his elbow. Isak turns his head so that he can look at him.

“Sure. But there’ll be time for that later.”

“Later?” Even stares at his watch. It will never be later.

“Later,” Isak repeats confidently. “When we’re more settled, when the worst has passed.”

“And then?”

Isak grins. “Then I’ll write the first encyclopaedia on the apocalypse.”

Highly unlikely, the critics will say. Too much banter, not enough plot.

Even doesn’t have time to answer. He’s got more important things to do.

The camera catches him linking his index finger with Isak’s fingers. Isak turns his palm upwards. Even holds his hand properly.

 

Even falls asleep in the afternoon one time, lying in the grass and staring at the sun.

Dreams wake him up. The sun is still there, looking down on him. Searing, a monster in the sky. Even can’t breathe. He closes his eyes, anything to block out the light.

Fade to black, fade to black, fade to – “Even,” Isak says, two hands cupping his face, tugging him close.

This is the part of the movie where the sound should cut off for real. This is the part of the movie where Even can see himself forming words, but none of them can be heard. None of them _should_ be heard.

“They’re dead. They’re _all_ dead,” he gasps and there can’t be any sound. Not when his insides are spilling out all over Isak, words tumbling over each other, splintering apart in his chest.

“I know,” Isak answers, tugs him close. He wraps him in his arms, shields Even from the eyes of the camera.

Fade to black.

 

Vilde and a few others return from a city trip with new clothes and a goat. Kitten screeches on Even’s shoulder. Even sets her down gently. She flees to their cabin.

“We found a goat,” Magnus says proudly. All the villagers are gathered around the goat. This scene should come earlier. People keep turning up in this film, although they’ve never been introduced before. Even can’t seem to change it. Post production will be a mess.

“The goat’s pregnant,” Isak says slowly.

“What? No. It’s just fat.” Magnus stares at the goat. She’s tugging at the makeshift leash. It seems like it’s made of an old cloth.

Isak rolls his eyes. “The world has ended, how the fuck would a goat manage to stay fat when everyone else barely has enough to eat?”

Magnus waves his hand. “I don’t know? Goats eat everything, don’t they?”

“If she’s pregnant,” Sana starts, “that means there has to be a male goat, too.”

Everyone falls silent. “He could be dead,” Isak argues. “How long are goats pregnant for?”

Everyone looks at each other. Everyone thinks the same thing: Just look it up. Swallows that answer, stays quiet. The atmosphere is buzzing with unsaid things.

Too subtle, the critics will say. No one understands what the hell this scene is supposed to be about. Just a bunch of kids arguing over a goat. Missing the simple comfort of having everything at their disposal.

You need to look again, Even defends himself. You need to look and realise that this is bigger than all of us.

“We’ll go search for him next time we’re in the city,” Magnus decides.

“For now, we have a goat and maybe soon a baby goat,” Vilde says, claps her hands and looks fake happy.

Isak sighs. “At least they really do eat everything.”

 

Their bed has grown larger.

Birds-eye view: Two bodies pressed together, back to chest. One blanket thrown over their lower halves. Even’s nose at the nape of Isak’s neck.

In the morning, they let go. Even always feels braver in the night.

Isak stares at the sun without fear.

 

Vilde calls the goat Lady. None of them are particularly creative when it comes to names.

Vilde tends to Lady. Even sees Vilde walk through the village with Lady, lead her into the woods when Vilde is getting water.

Even holds Kitten tight and thinks he understands.

 

Sometimes they all spend the evening in front of a campfire.

There are no marshmallows, no beer, no things Even remembers from his life before. There are stupid conversations, though. About whether or not they would eat their least favourite food if they had to for the rest of their lives. About what kind of superpower they would want to have.

There always comes a time when someone’s ghost sneaks up on them. Memories, wrapped in a silver coat, leaning over their shoulder and letting them shudder. It’s Jonas this time. Isak scoots closer, traps Jonas between him and Eva and starts talking.

Even watches the way the fire illuminates Isak’s face. Open, but concerned. Talking softly of something that happened a few days ago, Eva chiming in, pulling Jonas back to them. To now.

Even curls a hand in the ground beneath him. Isak looks up and sees him. Smiles a little.

Even doesn’t know if the fire or Isak warms him more.

 

“I took meds before,” Even says once when they’re in bed and Isak has buried his nose in Even’s neck. It’s familiar to lie like this now. Here, in the comfort of their own cabin.

Isak hums.

“To help my brain out. It’s unpredictable otherwise.”

Isak stays quiet.

“I ran out of them weeks ago,” Even admits.

Isak tightens his arm around Even’s waist. “Okay,” he says. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I think we should all probably be on something, so. You’re in good company.”

That startles a laugh out of Even.

Refreshing in its bluntness, the critics will say.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out.” Isak sounds so sure of himself, even half-asleep. Even can’t help but believe him.

 

“We’re going to the city again,” Isak says.

Even nods. Kitten is playing in front of the cabin, entertaining Eva and a couple of others who are waiting for Isak to join them. “Do you want to come?”

“No.” It’s an easy answer. Today Even sees ghost towns and empty roads when he closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to return there.

“Okay. I’ll be back later.” Isak nods at him, turning around and walking towards the others. Kitten spots him first, runs up to him and hisses. Isak laughs at her, bends down to pet her before she is quick enough to bite.

Even’s heart feels too full all of a sudden.

 

Even spends the day wandering around the village. He helps Noora take stock of what food they still have left, make space for what the others will return with in the evening.

He sits with Linn for a while. They don’t talk and it’s nice.

He’s on the porch, playing with Kitten, when Isak returns. She’s sleepy but she indulges him.

Isak is carrying a bag in one hand. “I got you something,” he says. Even’s eyes widen.

“I wanted to find you a new watch” – Even’s fingers turn to stroke over his watch, standing still – “or batteries for it, but I couldn’t find any that would fit. I found something else, though.”

He opens his bag, pulls out a clock as big as two palms next to each other. “It also needs batteries, but I found four and these kinds of clocks usually work for a long time.” He grabs the batteries next, stretching out his hand and offering them to Even.

Even stares at him. Isak’s face is a little sunburnt, his freckles are getting more prominent and his hair is windswept. Even wants so much.

He shakes off Kitten and gets up. For once, the music stays calm when Even puts his hands on Isak’s cheeks. “Can I?” he asks and Isak nods. His eyes are bright. Not like the sun, less insistent, less forceful. Waiting for Even to make the first step.

Even does. He kisses him. Soft, a brushing of lips against each other.

Their heads fit in one frame. If the camera were to pan down, it’d see the clock pressed between their bodies. The camera stays on their faces, Even decides.

 

They don’t leave the bed the next day.

They’re cuddled against each other, the blanket draped loosely over them, and Even touches Isak wherever he wants to. Isak rolls onto Even, presses him into the mattress, and Even’s weighted down by Isak. Anchored in his own body.

Isak feels warm on his skin.

Late in the evening, there’s insistent knocking on their cabin door. Isak gets up, throws on some pants and opens the door.

“We thought you’d died,” a few of the villagers say. Even spots Eva. He can’t see Isak’s face, can only hear his answer, “We didn’t.”

They nod. Eva finds Even’s gaze. The camera takes up her position for a moment: Even in bed, the blanket pooled around his waist, looking back at her calmly. He smiles.

She smiles back.

They didn’t die.

 

Even finds a nail and some string to hang up the clock on the wall of their cabin. It starts ticking almost immediately.

They check how high up the sun is, fiddle with the clock and position its hands. Time starts over.

Even’s own watch is still on his wrist, but the clock in their home is louder than the thoughts in his head.

 

“I miss them,” Isak says. They’re behind their cabin for once. Isak’s woken up from a nightmare and Even hasn’t been to sleep yet. His skin is bristling.

“Who?”

“Everyone. My parents, my friends, the people I’ve never talked to at school and who still died.”

“What were they like?” Even asks after what feels like an eternity. It’s not. There’s a clock in their cabin ticking and saying: This isn’t forever. This is a second, a minute. This will pass.

“The people I didn’t talk to?”

No. His parents. “Sure. The people you didn’t talk to.”

“I don’t know. I didn’t talk to them.” Isak’s voice is hoarse from sleep and breathing too harshly, but he still sounds a little amused. Good.

“So, imagine something for them. What were they up to in their free time?”

“How is this supposed to help?” Isak frowns.

“Not at all, probably. Let’s give it a try?”

Isak sighs. “There was this one kid who sometimes came to school in a suit.”

“In a suit?”

“Yeah, I have no idea what that was about.”

“Maybe he was a spy.”

“You think so?”

“Definitely. A bad spy. Couldn’t figure out how to fit in.”

The conversation continues, wraps itself around them. Shifts and flows all over them. Even’s brain is buzzing. Isak stretches out a hand and holds his.

“I wish I’d talked to the spy,” Isak whispers.

“But then he could have never become a spy,” Even whispers back.

Isak chokes on laughter that sounds suspiciously like a sob. Even clings to his hand.

 

The scenery that was already bright turns blinding. Light everywhere, fuzzy shapes moving quickly through it. The music is unpredictable, too loud.

The movie tries to be too many things at once, the critics will say. Having a bipolar protagonist on top of a post-apocalyptic setting just confuses the audience. Better stick to the depressed hero, easier to commiserate with.

Fuck off, Even will laugh. Fuck off, this is my life, this is my movie, I can do whatever the fuck I want.

“I’m going to the city,” he tells Isak excitedly.

“No,” Isak says. The music drops to a low tone, uncanny.

“You go to the city alone all the time.” Even gestures wildly with his hands. The camera sways with him.

“I go with the others, but that’s not the problem.”

Even frowns. Even’s brain has kicked into gear finally, after what felt like ages, and now he’s got energy and they’re still searching for the male goat, right? Even will find it. He’ll find it and make Vilde happy. Real happy.

“Even,” his name rolls off Isak’s tongue. It halts him shortly. “You can’t go, we need you here.”

“Why?” The village is so damn quiet. So small, and today Even feels like he could walk on water. The village is too little for him, too confining.

“We need your input on how to get the water running. You can go to the city some other time. Running water is more important, right?” Isak’s voice is a little shaky. It matches the camera. God, Isak will get an Oscar for his part in this movie. Even will watch him hold his acceptance speech and he’ll come up to the stage with him and they’ll be disgustingly happy in their expensive suits. They’ll have champagne. Even hasn’t had champagne in so long.

“Even, the water?”

Right, yes, of course. That makes sense. They need Even’s ideas. He has so many of them. “We’ll go to the city after?” he still asks but follows Isak into the village again. There must have been a jump cut between him walking out of the cabin and ending up at the edge of the village. He doesn’t remember how he got here. Sloppy editing.

“Yes,” Isak breathes out. Even can see how the grass rocks in the wind. “Will you let me come with you?”

“Yes! I’ll need more than two hands for the goat.” Even nods to himself. It’s a good plan.

 

The sun hurts his eyes. Not even the darkness behind his eyelids can shut it out properly.

Isak puts a spare blanket over their window. Even doesn’t turn around to thank him. Kitten curls up in bed with him.

 

“Hi,” Even says one evening. The clock says it’s quarter past nine. Just a little more and his own watch will be right for a minute.

Isak is sitting upright next to him, reading one of the books they found while scavenging. “Hi,” he greets back.

Guilt and shame sit heavy in Even’s stomach. “I’m sorry,” he says, and, “Thank you.”

“Don’t be,” Isak answers, and, “Always.”

He lets Isak be the big spoon. It’s so frighteningly domestic that his chest burns. Isak kisses his neck.

 

“Are you actually holding Kitten now?” Even asks. Isak is sitting on the porch, Kitten in his lap.

“Shut up,” Isak grins. His fingers are stroking Kitten’s stomach. She is purring so loudly, Even can hear it.

“You’ve grown soft, Isak.” It’s not true, he’s always been soft. Even doesn’t say that, though. Thinks that Isak will argue against it, although it’s true.

“Shut up,” Isak repeats, still no force in it. Kitten stretches all four limbs in the air and meows. Isak laughs a little. The sun catches in his hair, still dirty-blond, longer now.

It’s warm outside. Even’s warm.

 

Lady’s kid arrives in the middle of the night.

Vilde is there, but Even only finds out in the morning when Isak and he are walking over to Vilde’s cabin. Behind it there’s a little fence, water for Lady and some grass. Next to Lady a tiny, tiny goat is knocking its head into Lady’s stomach insistently.

Vilde sits a few feet away, grinning brightly.

“It’s a female kid,” Vilde says.

“What’s her name?” Isak asks, because, somehow, it’s always him asking for names. Names for animals he pretends not to care for. Names for strangers he picks up in the woods. Even links their fingers together.

Vilde takes the kid in, stares at her and says, “Hope.”

“That’s tacky,” Isak immediately argues.

Vilde doesn’t look at him when she shakes her head. “I don’t care. She’s called Hope.”

Isak sighs loudly. “Fine. Hope it is.” There’s a smile on his face.

Even drowns out the critics, stares at Isak. There are five freckles on his left cheek.

 

“Our movie has changed,” Even says later.

Isak raises an eyebrow. “Yeah? What kind of movie is it now?”

“It was supposed to be a post-apocalyptic story of how one hero finds the things he lost elsewhere.”

“It isn’t that anymore?”

“No.”

“Why not?” Isak watches him.

“I don’t like those films. I can’t stick to the genre restrictions. All loud music and too much action, when the biggest thing that happens is not an action scene at all but a kissing scene.”

Isak bites his lip. Even can still see his smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s not a post-apocalyptic film anymore.”

“What is it now?” Isak repeats. He comes closer, one hand fitting over Even’s waist. Like it’s always had its place there.

“It’s a documentary.”

“Not a love story?” Isak grins. Still soft, this boy is still so soft and Even marvels at it.

“The love story’s included in the documentary, have you never watched any?”

“I always found them boring.”

Isak is so close that Even only has to whisper. “Do you find this one boring?”

“No,” Isak admits and kisses him.

The camera pans away. It doesn’t want to disturb the moment.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> find me on [tumblr](http://hotchocolatenthusiast.tumblr.com/)


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